Customer Reviews

Suicide (First Album)

5 star:		(23)
4 star:		(8)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(2)

 

 

What an incredible piece of work this is: absolutely unique, unprecendented and terrifying, without any pretensions or sense of compromise. For a band merely consisting of a singer and a guy with a beat-up old keyboard plugged into a few distortion pedals, Suicide in 1977 truly made one of rock'n'roll's all-time essential albums.

Released at the height of the NYC punk explosion of the late '70s (though the band - Alan Vega and Martin Rev - pre-dated it by a good 5 years), "Suicide" made many stroke their heads in confusion, though won over just as many with its bizarre, minimalist take on punk rock'n'roll, seemingly a mixture of whiter-than-white Velvets/Stooges rock churn, Taylor/Monk avant-garde jazz and the two-note repetitive glory of LaMonte Young and Terry Riley.

Much to its credit, "Suicide" is more than just noise and screaming; what stands out here are the SONGS. "Ghost Rider" is the ultimate slab of white-line-fever trance-rock; "Cheree" is almost like a punker update on '50s doo-wop weepies; "Johnny" is pure electro-Elvis; and the epic "Frankie Teardrop" is a chilling ride through a hopeless life I hope not to experience. What made Suicide so special was their ability to melt technology with a totally HUMAN aesthetic, allowing even boring "rock purists" to enjoy their keyboard-driven sounds.

To cut a long story short, this excellent reissue (nice info-filled booklet and all) features two essential bonuses: six songs recorded live at CBGBs ca. 1977, and the infamous "23 Minutes Over Brussells" show from '78, a riot-inducing spectacular of frightening proportions.

Suicide strangely developed a strong following amongst foppish UK lightweights like Depeche Mode, OMD and Human League, though to get a more accurate picture of where they were coming from, let's put it this way: if you're at all partial to the likes of worthy racketeers like the Stooges, Throbbing Gristle, Neu!, Albert Ayler or Lou Reed ca. "Metal Machine Music", then Suicide's first album is just about the most sensible purchase you could possibly make.

Punk rock is a very visceral form of music to start with; one listen to the Sex Pistols' catalog (or at least their debut album)will leave no one doubting that. But the idea of a punk recording adopting influences from the German rather than British or American rock scenes struck most people then as unusual. Moreover, the idea of a punk recording consisting of no more than of what were then state-of-the-art electronics (today they're 'vintage') and extreme vocals was even more unusual. After honing their skills for six years prior, the duo of Alan Vega and Martin Rev who make up Suicide released this, their debut album in 1977, probably one of the most forward-thinking pop recordings of its day.

Having very little experience with groups like Wire and Joy Division (both significant in their own right), I find it hard to accept that either act could have created something more chilling than this. Perhaps Suicide are the beginning of what's now refered to as "post-punk", a style of punk which relied heavily on synthesizers, drum machines, and so on. Suicide's second and third releases convey a similar energy and drive, but this self-titled work remains the purest expression of their modus operandi, a harsh, almost dirty, bed of synth arpeggios which provide the foundation for Vega's vocal meanderings, most powerfully expressed on 'Frankie Teardrop' and the alternate take of 'Harlem' from the CBGB live performance on the bonus disc. Think of it, if you will, as the kind of music either Terry Riley or Klaus Schulze would have made if they were punk musicians, or if Kraftwerk had stronger theatrical tendencies. Beautiful, occasionally distrubing and always mesmerizing, Suicide's debut is certainly one of the great electronic albums of the '70s, and maybe of all time.

For a band that really had no other electro-punk influences to draw from at the time of it's release, this album proves that they were WAY ahead of their time. Always minimalistic and staggering in its approach, the album's power derives mainly from trance-inducing and repetitive keyboards from Marty Rev and unpredictable, howling vocals from Alan Vega. Not bad sounds coming from what mainly started with a broken down Farfisa organ and cheap-o drum machine. And tracks like "Ghost Rider" and "Frankie Teardrop" have proved to be timeless and greatly influencial even by today's standards. The live tracks taken from different shows of the era only prove how often controversial and violent this kind of music was taking it's only influences from the doomed and claustrophobic climate of the late 1970's in NYC. HIGHLY recommended and a leader of the genre.

This album paints a picture of a world on edge with the same beautiful hues Lynch used in Eraserhead - a world oscillating wildly, always in motion. War vets, fifties styled crooning, mad mad motorcycle chases - this album will leave no one unsatisfied. GHOST RIDER is quite possibly the most beautiful song ever written by leather clad America.

Fans should also check out the Silver Apples, Cromagnon, Throbbing Gristle, United States of America, Wolf Eyes, and Neu!

This album starts with some good subtle raw electronics with some nice subtle melodies on ROCKET USA and CHEREE but the longest song FRANKIE TEARDROP is downright scary. As the vocals kick in and tells a story complete with some errie screams that will have you startled.

Truly innovative if you like Krautrock and Spacerock you will like this. Sort of a darker side of Kraftwerk. Makes Marylin Manson and NIN look like little girls.

It really bothers me to see all these reviews that try to pigeonhole this album into some kind of concept of "punk rock" or "electronica" to make it more palatable to Joe Consumer. Both of these genre titles dumb down what this album really is. It is not untalented three-chord rebellious silliness, and it is not take-designer-drugs-and-dry-hump all night nonsense. It is a couple of very creative folk who were stuck in 1971 and decided to make something very different. There is no "drum machine" -- there is rhythm culled from the rhythm "machine" part of some old, decrepit organ; it has more in common with the madness of Sly and the Family Stone's "Fresh" than some boring New Romantic album. Alan Vega was known for wearing a leather jacket and hitting walls with chains in 1971 and scaring audiences that expected yet more hippie feel-good rock -- years before the Sex Pistols' poseur rehashed 1950's hits -- and Martin Rev -- I won't be arrogant enough to claim to know the model of organ he played -- he didn't by any means play "state of the art" equipment nor a Farfisa, but rather the kind of organ you'd probably find for $20 in a thrift store these days. There are no synthesizers on this record. Synthesizers by definition are instruments which attempt to re-create the sound of other instruments by synthesis; what you hear on this record is not some wanker trying to re-create a lush orchestral arrangement. The lyrics are often parodies of contemporary rock -- to be blind to that is to confine this record to the cut-out bins of history. So please, no more bland "if you love the Sex Pistols, this is great!" or "this is a lot like Joy Division" reviews written by people who bought this because they read a SPIN magazine article citing this as "influential" -- you're all full of something that stinks and comes out of male cattle. Rot.

Biker gangs,teenag e sweethearts, TV stars and psycho killers are just some of the images conjured up on this unique slice of electric punk from '77.

As someone properly pointed out earlier, this isn't the "punk" many would equate with The Ramones, Dead Boys, Television, et al. For there is no guitarist, bassist or drummer. In like manner, to call this a "techno" album would not do either. But this album does draw inspirations from both. Alan Vega used the word "punk" in describing his earlier gigs, when he gained infamy for sporting a leather jacket, battered jeans and a bike chain that he pummeled the walls and floors with. Some of these things ARE punk in a sense.

But that's beside the point. What an album this is: Two artists with limited resources or instruments, except a battered organ (originally it was in fact a Farfisa) and a whole lotta attitude create an album of raw, primitive energy. Martin Rev's homemade riffs are an overtone to Alan Vega's beat-like lyrics. While "Ghost Rider" conjures up images of motorcyclists who are "blazin' away," "Rocket USA" is a brooding punch-out about "doomsday" amid a world of decadence: "It's nineteen hundred seventy seven/the whole country's doin' a fix/ It's doomsday.")

But this isn't always menacing. With an Elvis-like crooning, "Cheree" is an absolutely gorgeous update on '50s melodies. When Vega sings "Cheree Cheree/my comic book fantasy/ come play with me/ I love you / I love you, baby," it's actually quite moving. "Johnny" is fun little slice of rockabilly, albeit short. (What a shame!) "Girl" is probably the one low-water mark on the album that should be avoided at all costs, unless hearing someone moan perversely into the mic is entertaining to you.

Then there's "Frankie Teardrop", the jarring, disturbing 10-minute epic of 20-year-old Frankie who's stuck in the seamy side of NYC with a wife and kid - a working stiff who's "working from 7 to 5/he's just tryin' to survive" but snaps and what ensues is probably one of the scariest moments in music. The first time I heard this track I was sweating and I jumped about four times. Don't listen to this late at night alone - you've been warned. (Interesting side note: Bruce Springsteen is a fan of this song, apparently it was an inspiration when recording his "Nebraska" album a few years later.)

"Che" is a brooding comedown, a track that conjures up images of a TV/movie icon who meets his fate.

Rev and Vega have done a few albums together since (including the understated "A Way of Life" which I own on LP believe it or not!) but this debut remains unsurpassed. If you're hesitant to listen to this because of the notoriety surrounding "Frankie Teardrop" give this a chance and play it beginning to end. You might be pleasantly surprised - I certainly was!

(Note: The CD version I own is an out-of-print version from Demon Records, released in the late '80s, without the bonus tracks. So I can't comment on the live tracks.)

There is now a flourishing synthpunk underground, but the sound invented by Suicide, Metal Urbain, and a few other '70s pioneers was scorned and ignored for years. Dreamy, threatening tracks like "Ghost Rider" and "Frankie Teardrop" foreshadow everything from Bauhaus to psychedelic trance. But at their heart, the songs throb with pure rock-n-roll violence.

Suicide were an anti-rock punk duo from New York City. Vocalist Alan Vega - think Iggy without any lust for life - would occasionally attack audiences with a large bike chain, but this 1977 debut was far more confrontational. Apparemtly, you don't need hard riffin' guitars to musically represent an utterly debased humanity: no, knackered keyboards and a cheapo drum machine will do (both handled by Martin Rev). The sound was Kraftwerk go rockabilly in hell. The cover featured lurid globules of blood. Vega's howls suggested that he hated you personally and would relish the opportunity to drag you down with him. When they supported the Clash, even punks hated them.

The things written about this album already are 100% true. It is a fabulous, and innovative album, and influenced many subsequent acts in many different genres of music. The thing that seems to be missing from those reviews is that fact that, in my opinion, this album is TERRIFYING. Alan Vega's howling, desperate cries over Martin Rev's grinding synths and drum beats could be the soundtrack to your nightmares. Check this awesome record out.

Also, if you can track down a copy of the (I think out of print) book Cripple Nation, by Alan Vega, you should. It's a pretty interesting look into the man's mind, in the form of lyrics, poems, prose, and drawings.